Now that's what I call a round of beers! Leighton and Cherie make friends with the train porter.

Are you sure we can fit everyone in these seats?

Enough beer?

Cherie, Leighton and Diane.

Sum Luck, he's really quite a jolly fellow as long as you pay for your orange juice.

In the dining car.

Leighton and Hilda.

The train party continues.

Bucket of Singha beer?

Cherie and Leighton.

Hannah, Hilda and Lynn.

Hilda and Leighton.

Hannah (the chef) and Cherie (the eater.)

The twins having too much fun!

Add a dash of Leighton!

Meeting a local Thai girl. She thought we were funny.

How to make a train ride go by fast.

Edna and Yorham.

Cherie and Hannah. *Photo by Yorham.

That's one happy bartender! *Photo by Yorham.

Singers! *Photo by Yorham.

Amanda. *Photo by Yorham.

Dancing on the train. *Photo by Yorham.

Cherie. *Photo by Yorham.

The girls rocking out in the aisle. *Photo by Yorham.

The party keeps getting bigger.

Edna and Cherie. *Photo by Yorham.

Dancing Foolios. *Photo by Yorham.

The twins with Amanda and Lee.

Charlie's Angels?

All seat-belted in for bedtime.

Leighton and Hilda.

Are you allowed to bring beer into bed?

Hold on Hilda! Are you ready for a rocky night's sleep?

Leighton and Hannah....those eyes say it all.

Diane and Cherie.

cherie writes: We’ve taken 3 over-night trains in Thailand. Since we never get any sleep on the rattling trains, the long trip is the perfect excuse for an all-night party. We always get kicked out of the main cabin (where we cram 8 people in a “booth” meant for 2.) Then we stumble to the dining car, which should be named “the drinking car.” The aisle became our dance floor and the Thais learned to party—Ciao Tribe style.

When I saw the train toilet tears welled up in my eyes. I thought: “It’s my poddy and I’ll cry if I want to.” You can see the train tracks racing by below as you try to aim for the wobbly hole. It’s a game you never win; you always come out of the bathroom with pee-freckled legs. Perhaps this is why the twins always ask for an extra roll of toilet paper. I always wonder what they are doing in there with all that toilet paper. Are they making origami?
The good news is that Diane, the less perceptive of the twins, has finally figured out how to use squat toilets. Her first week in Thailand, she was facing the wrong way and always came out of the bathroom in a bad mood. Maybe that’s what she’s doing in the bathroom with all that toilet paper—wiping the pee off her legs!

Our train porter was the biggest partier in our group. I might say that the last train ride was the best, except that the drunken train porter threw away my toiletry bag mistaking it for trash (which is probably how Hannah would describe the cheap grocery-store bought products that I use.) Hannah has an entire bag that is dedicated to products. The loss of this “product bag” would be more finally and emotionally devastating to Hannah than the loss of my computer would be to me.

My toiletry bag misfortune has been a great stroke of luck for my hair and face, both of which have never had the honor of wearing such expensive and luxurious products as Hannah’s. I was in the shower and I asked Hannah to borrow her conditioner. “Of course, darling,” she said, it’s right there in the bathroom.

There were no fewer than 14 bottles in the bathroom and none of them said: conditioner. I peeked my wet head out of the bathroom again and said: “Hannah, I can’t find it.” She assured me it was there, so I looked again. “Exactly what does the bottle say?” I inquired pleading for help.

“It says Mask,” said Hannah. Since the only mask I know about it the one you wear at Halloween, I was confused. “You don’t know what a hair mask is?” Hannah asked unable to conceal the shock on her face. “You have so much to learn.”

My hair was screaming with ecstasy when I applied a dime-size portion of Hannah’s hair-mask. Later I asked for lotion and I had to answer a list of questions before the lotion would be administered. “Where do you want to put it?” was Hannah’s first question. Hannah is amazed that I only have one lotion for my entire body, while each of her appendages gets its own expensive concoction. Hannah thinks that if you use body-lotion near your eyes your face will melt off.

“Under my eyes,” I answered and she opened the $160 per ounce eye-cream. Hannah almost fainted when I tried to stick my bacteria-laden finger in her eye-cream. “You must use a make-up spatula” Hannah instructed as she supplied me with a plastic spoon-thing.

Hannah’s patience ran thin as I rubbed the cream in place. Was I a pagan? My application technique was all wrong! Hannah shook her head in pity; she simply didn’t know what to do with me. Only toddlers rub their eyes! “You must pat the precious cream in place, and don’t stretch the skin,” coached Hannah.

When it was finally time to go to sleep, with beer-full bellies and pee-filled pants, I climbed into my top bunk, seat-belted myself in, and banged around until dawn. Even though I got no sleep, my eyes looked great in the morning.